


We're in Fine Spirits

by Arowen12



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Daddy Issues, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus uses his Psychic powers, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: He opens his eyes at Six’s gasp, his uniform is floating above the floor along with his books, dancing in little circles around his head in a happy little waving and bobbing motion.





	We're in Fine Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, we are here with another fic (when I should be finishing a different fic). This fic explores the idea of Klaus’ latent psychic abilities so it’s pretty Klaus central, in the fic the only canon ship is Klaus/Dave but there are other interpretations available, so suit your fancy. Read on and enjoy!  
> The Umbrella Academy is the property of Gerard Way and Gabriel Bá

X

The first time it happens, it's their birthday, their collective birthday, all six of them at once. There's something dull about a birthday when you share it with five other kids. But hey, it's not like Hargreeves would throw them a party anyway. Their mom and Pogo convince him to give them gifts, they're turning ten, that's a pretty big number. So, their gifts are given after dinner, in a stony sort of silence that sits uncomfortably in his chest and it's almost humorous, it almost makes him want to laugh to break the silence. But then he remembers how their dad would look at him with those disappointed eyes and in training tomorrow he would be pushed extra hard. He doesn't like talking to spirits.

The gifts are wrapped with newspaper which feels cheap in the literal mansion they live in, but he's still grateful and he's happy, really happy. He smiles at Six, who's cradling his gift to his chest and grinning down at it with all the joy in the world in his eyes as much as he tries to hide it. Six can’t hide anything from him though.

They open their gifts, Klaus shouldn’t be surprised that it’s something for training, a book on centring the mind. The others have equally depressing gifts, but Klaus still holds it close to his chest and peers at the cover for a long moment, if only to appease their dad. It doesn’t hide the ache in Four’s chest, the way he’s seen other families do birthdays, it’s not sombre, it’s not silent, and they actually want the gifts. It burns behind his eyes, hot and heavy lodged all the way up in his throat. But Four has gotten good at not crying at minor things, or at least he thinks he has.

He doesn’t fool Six, and he probably wouldn’t fool Five if he was paying attention. But as it is, he only gets Six’s sympathetic smile, a promise. He takes it to heart.

It’s late at night, Four is sitting in bed staring out the window and clutching a flashlight he stole from somewhere in the house to his chest. There’s a man with half his organs spilling out of his chest and he’s mumbling a location with fervent determination. It reminds him of the detective mysteries Seven likes to read, he’s stolen them a few times and there’s always a hard-boiled detective who solves a crime with just the right information. Four could be like that if it wasn’t so terrifying to stare at a man with his guts spilling onto the floor with a squishy sort of sound and a putrid sort of smell.

The door creaks open, Four prepares to duck under the covers, or make an excuse about getting a glass of water that won’t go over well. But the shadow’s too short, and the footsteps aren’t quite heavy enough. Six peeks inside, his hair is a mess around his head, sticking up at odd angles and little tufts as he smiles at Four and enters the room with a silent click behind him.

Four waves his flashlight with a small smile, he can see his birthday gift on the table, and maybe he burned the first page after he got angry at the mantra that he could just ignore his problems. As if that ever worked.

Six plops onto his bed with a bounce, and there’s silence for a good long minute that makes Four shift uncomfortably because he can see a ghost in the garden and she’s missing her hands, the poor women, and calling out his number. But then Six turns to him, and his eyes in the darkness are practically glowing, like when his powers come out, and everything gets oversaturated and fuzzy all at once.

He pulls out a chocolate bar, the kind Four saw rows of at the convenience store they once stopped a robbery in, it’s all bright colours and he stares at Six for a long moment with wide eyes.

“Happy Birthday.”

Six whispers and the words sink deep into his skin. Because those words? They’re just for him, they’re his words. Not begrudgingly given, nor traded with five other people with dull excitement. They’re his. He grins at the feeling, grins at Six and doesn’t question how he got the chocolate, and instead says, “Happy birthday.

Six smiles and opens the chocolate bar with a crinkle of wrapping that feels loud, but it’s the right kind of loud, it’s good. Six offers him the first piece and it strikes somewhere deep in his gut and Four takes it with shaking hands and puts it in his mouth. It’s sweet and he’s had chocolate before, rarely, but this is sweet, and it’s like liquid happiness and it wells up and up in his gut like when you overfill a cup with water and it just keeps going.

He opens his eyes at Six’s gasp, his uniform his floating above the floor along with his books, dancing in little circles around his head in a happy little waving and bobbing motion. Four stares. Did he do that? He turns to stare at Six and can’t muffle his own gasp as his brother floats beside him, his features are awe-struck, bright as the sun and he’s shaking his hands in front of him and opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

Four feels a sudden wave of exhaustion and everything drops to the floor, Six squishes into the bed with a thunk and so do the books and his clothing. Four cringes and waits for the inevitable but nothing comes but a wave of dizziness that makes the room spin a bit.

“That- that was amazing!”

Six whispers as they stare at each other with wild-eyes, Four can’t help the giggle that falls from his lips as he falls back to lay against the bed, digging his fingers into the duvet with a grin that won’t leave his face. Six plops down beside him and the wrapper shuffles and there’s a piece of chocolate in between his fingers and Four eats it without thought and savours the sweet taste.

“Should we tell dad?”

Six asks because he’s always liked listening to dad, he’s good at it, better than Four. He thinks about it for a moment, thinks about telling dad and the way he’ll react, how he’ll push Four harder than ever. He shakes his head and says, “No.”

Six doesn’t argue, and Four can’t word his gratitude, can’t say how much that feels good. Because One never hesitates to tell and Three sometimes will listen to him but she almost always tells anyways, and Five is ruthless, and Two doesn’t tell but he doesn’t quite listen.

They lie together staring up at the ceiling and it’s easy to ignore the ghost a girl with a sad smile, the taste of chocolate is sweet on his tongue and everything is warm in his chest and he’s tired but it’s a good sort of tired and Six is beside him.

X

The first time Klaus gets his name he holds it close to his chest, tender and fragile like an injured bird with hollow bones. He hears the others’ names but can’t acknowledge them, not Ben, not Diego, or Luther, Allison, and Vanya (but not Five). Because he has a name, he has something that is utterly and terribly his. No one can take it from him, he is not a number, not Four, but Klaus. He repeats his name over and over again in his mind like a mantra and he gets to decide what it means, not dad. Because he is Klaus.

X

The mausoleum is dark, dark, so very dark. It stretches out endlessly, all around him and yet he can’t reach out a hand in front of him, it feels like he can’t even stand up like his legs have been drained of energy. It’s cold, bone-chilling, soul-sucking, deep cold and Klaus can’t get warm, rubs his hands over his arms till their stiff and pale with cold.

They surround him, half there translucent spectres, crowing around him with pale faces. There’s a man with no eyes and a slit through his throat that weakly spurts blood, beside him hovers a woman she hangs from an invisible rope, eyes translucent and glassy like a fish, there’s a child sitting beside Klaus, crying and crying with nothing in their chest but a cave of darkness. They scream his name, tell him their life story in screams that are too loud, too much.

They sink into him, rip their nails through his skin and press their cold cold hands to his cheeks and stare into his eyes in some false imitation of kindness as they call his name, begging, screaming, raving, endlessly. It runs through his mind, drips icy tears down his cheeks as he shivers in the cold and feels like one of the ghosts, he wonders if he’s dying if they’ll ever find his body in the morning.

He tries everything. He wishes the ghosts away, tries to picture sunshine and the warmth of Ben’s hugs, the taste of mom’s cooking, anything but the crypt and opens his eyes. The walls shake once, dust scatters from the ceiling and bones rattle and the ghosts surge forward.

Klaus screams to drown them out, screams until he can’t until his voice is hoarse and scratchy in his chest like when Vanya tries to play the violin. And he can’t help the sobs that rip through him with great big shudders that could just be the cold. And it hurts and he wonders where his family is. Why haven’t they noticed he’s gone? Do they care? (They don’t)

They claw at him whisper words of comfort that feel false and drip like ice down his spine and Klaus tells them to go away, croaks the words from his throat, pulls from his stomach, and pushes from his stomach with everything. He’s so afraid. He’s so alone. And the ghosts don’t go.

X

The first time he tries Klaus is an alleyway, it’s dark, there’s the sound of the city outside the walls, and the smell of the city around him, there’s a ghost sitting on a trash can across from him staring at Klaus with a raised brow and half a face, he’s Scottish but not the worst Klaus has had to see. Not like the ghost that woke him, a girl, with blood on her legs crying his name, asking him to save her. He can’t.

He holds the blunt in front of him, stares at it, he’s tried cigarettes and they’re nice, take the edge off of things, and make the ghosts just a bit quieter. And he’s had alcohol, shared sips of it with whatever sibling was feeling dangerous and wouldn’t tattle to dad (so not Luther). But this is just a bit different, it feels like a hurtle and it feels like a crawl. He sticks it in his mouth, thinks of the money that had been in his pocket, and brings his lighter up to the blunt.

For a long moment, Klaus watches the fire flicker, watches the play of colours and it’s beautiful, he wants to set the alleyway on fire and stand in the middle of it and burn everything to the ground. But that would be a waste of lighter fluid. Klaus suppresses a shiver, it’s cold, it’s always cold and the Scottish ghost has been joined by an old woman who is screeching like a bat and drifting towards him in an uneasy shuffle of broken limbs.

Klaus lights the blunt and inhales. He proceeds to cough at the taste, and he leans against the brick wall and forces himself to exhale. It reminds him of the first time he tried a cigarette, the way he swayed, and it burned in the back of his throat. He’s glad there’s no one to watch him even if it’s empty, and the Scottish ghost has left with a burst of rotund laughter. Klaus puts the blunt back in his mouth and inhales, slow this time, feels the smoke in his lungs like wisps of the afterlife.

It’s easy after that. It’s numb after that, time slips through his fingers along with everything else. It’s like he’s on a boat and each swell disappears with a trail of thought, with something concerning and for a moment the ghosts are nothing, he is nothing and that is great.

Somehow, Klaus makes it home, he passes Vanya in the hallway who stares at him with squinted and pitying eyes. He wants to tell her to stop, maybe to Fuck Off, or to please just leave him alone, no wait hold him please he’s so alone. But Klaus doesn’t say anything, and he falls into bed with the window open and an opera singer in the garden. Her voice is beautiful and Klaus drifts in the high and everything is so clear for a moment, everything makes sense, and then it’s gone again, and Klaus is alone.

X

He knows the instant it happens, the moment it occurs. It’s not some freak subconscious feeling or a chill down his spine or a shaking in his hands (that’s the withdrawal). Klaus is leaning against a window somewhere in the house where dad probably won’t walk by, there’s a cigarette in his hand drifting smoke lazily out the window. In his mind, he knows there’s a mission, but it has been a long time since Klaus has gone on missions, he’s more of a hazard these days then help.

He turns his head and sees him.

Ben.

There’s blood everywhere, organs where there shouldn’t be, and so much blood. The cigarette drops from his numb fingers and he staggers forward, and his mind is a mantra of the word No, over and over again. He reaches out with shaking fingers, desperately wants to be wrong, for it not to be true. This is a joke, a prank. Except Ben doesn’t joke like this and he’s staring at Klaus with sad eyes, the kind Klaus hates and always tries to chase away.

His hand reaches up and passes through his brother’s skin.

He’s dead.

Dead.

Klaus will never be able to touch Ben again, he’ll never feel his arms again, he won’t be there to help Klaus patch up his bruises, and he’s dead. He’ll never feel Ben’s arms around his, the way he smiles at Klaus and fixes the shirt he stole from Allison with a sigh.

Klaus sinks to his knees and screams.

His head is in his hands and the walls around him shake, everything shakes, and Klaus sobs, he can’t quite catch his breath, he covers his ears and rocks back and forth, closes his eyes as if it will get rid of Ben. Ben’s ghost standing in front of him. Ben who will be stuck with Klaus if he ever wants to communicate with his siblings, who will never grow up with them, who is dead. A cold hand settles on his shoulder and Klaus knows it’s supposed to be comforting but all he can feel is the chill as the walls shake and the furniture in the hallway trembles into the air and scrapes against the wall. Something shatters.

Ben is dead.

“Master Klaus!”

Everything shudders to a stop, and Klaus lifts his head, it’s Pogo standing at the end of the hallway staring at him with shocked eyes, he looks nervous. Klaus looks around himself and laughs, it’s a broken desperate laugh, in other words, it's perfectly normal.

The glass from the windows is shattered around him, everything is broken, and he can feel blood running down his nose and over his lip, tangy and salty and wrong. Ben is in front of him staring down at Klaus with those sad eyes, the ones that are sympathy and everything they shouldn’t be.

Klaus stumbles to his feet, ignores Pogo calling his name, he doesn’t need to explain himself, not anymore, and stumbles to his room. He passes no one because the house is always empty these days. Off in separate missions or they’ve left (Vanya, Five, Allison, and now Ben). There’s no point anymore, there’s nothing in the house but emptiness and the disapproving stare of his father.

The clothing falls into his bag, he’s not sure what he’s packing, it’s a flurry, it’s a mess, it’s whirling inside his head. He’s sobbing and doesn’t feel it and he’s shaking with the cold hard feeling of grief. Grief isn’t wet, it dries you up hard like the desert until your parched and starving. Because Ben is dead.

He doesn’t exit through the front door, doesn’t pen a nice note, or say goodbye, he leaves a knife for Diego that he had stolen once and had been counting the days till he noticed it was gone when they were younger. He goes through the window, and the grass is soft and squishy and wrong in the golden sunset around him. It should be dark; the skies should be weeping for Ben. But they won’t, just like their father won’t.

Klaus goes and Ben follows.

X

Being on the streets is difficult. But not any more difficult than growing up in the Umbrella Academy, Klaus would almost call it easier. Days slip away, between his fingers, the pounding beat of club music, the press of a body he doesn’t care about, all between the next hit of drugs.

There are nights where he sits in an alleyway, shivering and cold, with a high running sweetly through his veins, heavy on his tongue and bitter at the back of his mouth. Ben will sit across from him with his arms crossed over his chest and he’ll look disappointed, and sad, those sad eyes that Klaus hates but can’t do anything about.

He learns quickly about the rules, who not to piss off when to accept it and move on, what withdrawal feels like when it pulls itself through his body like some limbless creature dragging its way across the floor. Klaus watches the days pass by and gets extra high on certain days.

It’s purposeless, it’s drifting, there’s nothing in tomorrow except the chance to get high and it feels like an endless spiral and Klaus can hear his dad’s voice in his head talking about wasted potential always accompanied by that disappointed look that made Klaus want to curl in on himself until there’s nothing left. Made him want to scream if only to be seen. On those nights the darkness fills every crack in him (there’s a lot) and all he can see is the mausoleum and hear their screams, feel their cold limbs on his and taste death on his tongue.

He ODs more time than he can count on one hand, each time he thinks it’s going to be it, the last time. That he’ll finally join Ben in the great subway in the sky or whatever, that his family will read his obituary in the newspaper and say he deserved it. It would probably be the nicest answer. Instead, he lives and lives in Rehab.

It’s cold there, clinical, sterile, and it feels like the house, like the routine. But human contact is nice, and Klaus gets the chance to breathe for a moment, to feel his limbs again, and say hello to a ghost with a too wide smile and read Vanya’s book. She’s got spunk to write that. Kind of dangerous too. But it’s not like he’ll contact her either way.

Then he’s on the street again.

It almost happens once. Klaus is starving, he’s weak after a week of being high and wandering through the streets searching for something. He can’t remember what. But it’s dark and he slips into an alleyway and pulls his jacket to his chest, it’s one of the few things he’s kept from the house and it fits too snug, almost like a hug. So, Klaus can’t bear to lose it naturally.

Ben waves at him, he can see his mouth opening and closing, can picture words, but the sound doesn’t quite reach Klaus, like it’s submerged under water, like that time he almost drowned in the bathtub. He’s high but not high enough and the clarity stings at his eyes, shivers through his chest, and kicks at his knees.

He doesn’t hear them.

They slam Klaus against the wall, two guys, the big, strong, jackass type who are used to taking what they can get. And for an instant, one single instant Klaus doesn’t want to fight, wants to sit there and let it happen. Because what is the point?

Then Ben screams his name and he jerks, his chest racing with a sudden flux of adrenaline as he slams his bony elbow into the one guy’s nose, it breaks and blood pours over his fingers as he stumbles back. The other guy slams Klaus’ head into the bricks, it hurts him, dazes and confused him.

Klaus gets angry. It’s weird, he’s been so numb, feeling so many forms of fake emotion that the anger that courses through him is unfamiliar, a stranger. It pounds through his head with all the force of a stampede and the guy shoving his pants down stumbles back suddenly and there’s blood running down his nose and Klaus sways on his feet.

He turns and the guy’s unconscious, there’s some piece of rubble, a broken piece of brick nearby, and the blood on it glints strangely, it’s dark, too dark and all Klaus can see is the blood, on Ben, on himself, on his hands. He turns and vomits, bile burning his throat and making his eyes water, it’s acidic and horrible, and Klaus can’t breathe, curls himself into his chest and tries to catch his breath. It doesn’t quite work until Ben plunges his hands, cold as ice, colder, through his eyes and straight down into his spine.

Klaus stumbles out of the alleyway and searches for his next hit and a shower to wash everything away.

X

Being home is horrible. Home is definitely not where the heart is. It’s strange to see his siblings again, they’re all older and yet they’re all the same terribly damaged kids who crave love and affection. It feels empty without Five, and Klaus tries just once to summon his ghost on the porch while he’s smoking before he gives up. Ben is there too but none of the others can see him so that doesn’t quite count.

It gives him chills, the house, and Klaus’ skin itches, it’s not even the itch for a hit thank you very much, it’s something else, a deep-seated sense of wrong. But Klaus is nothing if not good at faking it, he is great at faking it. Be bright, be loud, be irritating and no one will look to see what’s underneath. But that would involve caring for someone to even notice anything.

Sitting on the couch as Luther talks about how one of them probably murdered dad, it reminds Klaus of the one time he visited the mausoleum. It had been during the day, pale in the cold winter, and harsh, the kind of sunlight that blinds your eyes. He had stood outside of the mausoleum and stared at it, stared at it for so long that the sun began to set. It didn’t change anything.

That’s what being home feels like. But at least Klaus’ has the chance to rifle through their dad’s stuff for money, always a bonus even if Ben gives him rolled eyes and a frown that suggests he expects better. He always does.

When the portal appears it’s strange, it’s wrong, Klaus can feel the wrongness of it all. He throws a fire extinguisher at it, at that moment it makes complete sense to him, and somewhere there is the logic that one might as well try.

It’s Five.

He has to check with the others, has to make sure that this isn’t Five’s ghost stepping out of a portal with that cocky smile and staring at them all with ravenous eyes that he can’t quite hide. It’s relief and confirmation. Klaus has always supposed that Five wasn’t dead, had tried to conjure him in rehab, in dinky bathroom stalls with the smell of weed filling the space. Part of him had suspected that Five was just being stubborn, like dad, but it’s a relief that sinks through his veins like stones and grounds him. It’s a good sort of grounding though.

After the drama and excitement, the high from the pilfered box of whatever, Klaus sinks into the couch, one that isn’t really meant for sinking into and stares at the stucco ceiling, watches it shift and roll with lazy eyes. Pogo enters the room, he moves slowly now, he’s older, which is a strange thought, Pogo being old. He had always been like the old man, unchangeable, time didn’t dare to touch him, it abhorrently refused to.

Pogo settles onto the couch and there’s silence for a long moment, Ben shifts on the arm of the couch and rests his head on his arms and makes a little shooing gesture as if he expects Klaus to suddenly spill his guts. No thank you.

“When you were an infant Master Klaus you used to cry so loudly, every night, all the time, I was surprised by the capacity of your tiny lungs-“

“Gee thanks Pogo.”

Klaus replies and the monkey raises one brow and adjusts his glasses before he continues, “Regardless Master Hargreeves decided that putting you in a separate room would benefit your siblings as the constant crying was disturbing the so-called peace. One day I came in to check on you, it was quiet, everything in the room was floating around you, your toys, the blanket, and the window was open. I recall you looked at me and smiled, a very happy smile for an enfant. I know you have great potential Master Klaus, you need only unlock it, I believe you can do it. Oh, and if you’ve seen a pearl-encrusted box that belonged in the Master’s office there were some very valuable documents inside that if so returned would forgive the perpetrator whatsoever.”

With the unsubtle parting words Pogo ambles off, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose and humming a jaunty little tune under his breath. Klaus watches the monkey leave and stares at his hands and wonders what he had been like as a baby, had he really done all that? Had he been happy?

“He’s right you know.”

Ben says and Klaus tilts his head up to stare at his brother, to stare into the half-translucent form of his body and the way his expression is expectant and supportive and something he quite wholly doesn’t deserve.

“Hmm?”

“You have the potential Klaus if you would just sober up…”

“Not that easy.”

Klaus replies with a shrug and Ben doesn’t argue it because they both know it’s true. Sighing Klaus rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling there’s an itch beneath his skin and he wonders what it really is.

X

Pain isn’t strange to Klaus, it isn’t really that hard when you grow up in the Umbrella Academy. And on the streets? Pain is constant, it is something you get used to or you get gutted. Klaus has been beaten bloody before, has almost bled out from a trade gone wrong. He knows pain, he knows torture (don’t ask why). So, this? This is nothing.

But the itch under his skin, the dryness of his mouth, the way his hands can’t quite stop shaking. It burns inside him, a fire without fuel, that burns him raw inside and out. And the torture is nothing in comparison.

It’s family though, he can’t betray them, can’t give Five up to them (Cha-Cha and Hazel) because then Five would die and Five is important. No one will notice or care if Klaus dies. He’s just the junkie with a useless power. If they kill him, he hopes the funeral will be nice, maybe it will be nice to die before the end of the world before everything goes to shit more than it already has.

Then they find his pills, his stash, and he can’t. He can’t. And he’s sorry and he apologies and prays to whatever god will listen that Five, that his family will be okay. He’s weak. Dad’s always been right, he can’t handle it, can’t even take his own powers, can’t even handle the weight of the world. What potential?

They put him in the closet, strapped into the darkness, like a plug in a socket. It swamps him, tucks over his chest, around his arm, over his mouth, with cold, so cold limbs and they scream his name and all Klaus can see, can feel is the mausoleum, is the dead. The walls shake, and dust rains on his head and Ben is saying something but it’s blurry in the midst of his fear, of the utter terror trapping his breath in his lungs. He can’t breathe. Fuck he can’t breathe.

They pull him out again, and it hurts, the light is like water on a burn, but it’s saltwater and the burn is burning, it’s a raw scratching need in his chest and Klaus hasn’t been this sober in years, hasn’t felt anything stark in years, and it is terrifying.

But he has to try. Ben looks at him with those eyes and the lady with a gunshot in her head babbles in Russian and Klaus’ manifests them, all of them. So many of them, so many names, so much death and the scent of blood is filling the room and he can imagine it staining his skin, bleeding into his fingers like the ink on his hands.

He names them, all the victims listens to the words, and he feels powerful, like a kid hearing a secret they’re not supposed to. It’s overwhelming, he can feel them pressing in on all sides but part of it is exhilarating like the high of a drug, but he’s alive, and he feels it.

They leave him strapped to a chair after they return and Klaus knows he has to escape, knows that he’s practically useless, dead meat if he stays. He laughs at his own joke but can see the worry bright like lightning in Ben’s eyes. Ben is lightning, bright and striking and powerful. He concentrates on the ropes, pushes and it feels weird, feels wrong, but then it’s ozone and blood. Its life flushing itself through his veins and it hurts. It shouldn’t hurt this, much right?

The ropes fall away but he can’t crawl through the front door, can’t when one of them might be, is out there. The screw shines innocently in the shaky mellow yellow glow of the motel lighting, and Ben stands near the vent with his arms crossed over his chest but he’s bouncing in his ghost shoes and Klaus crawls across the floor, feels his wrists ache, he hears footsteps, and a door opens.

But then the vent door falls open and Klaus crawls inside. It’s cold and smells like dust, the overwhelming scent of dust that Klaus hates because dust is like death, and there’s a briefcase, he doesn’t think, his hands wrap around it, and he goes. Klaus lives.

X

Klaus dies.

But first, he lives the most amazing ten months of his life. They are as horrible as they are amazing, it is war, it is bloody, there are torn limbs and blood-stained bandages that are black, there is mud and it sticks to everything and everywhere so that he feels as if he has a second skin. The ghosts fill the battlefields, so that Klaus can’t tell the difference between the dead and the living, can only listen to whispered prayers of children, of wives, of siblings, of families back home.

Ben is gone and Klaus is alone, lost, confused, it’s a discipline he’s familiar with, and it’s easy to slip in with, but every word is censorship and Klaus only knows from the rants of a dead political activist that they’re not fighting for a good cause. It’s bloody and its war and Klaus feels at home.

And then there’s Dave. Beautiful, wonderful Dave with soft eyes, and a sharp jaw, a furrow in his brow, a dimple in his cheek, his laughter that rings and hiccups, his dark humour that quirks his lips, his family at home a single mom who works in a laundromat and all his paycheck goes to her, and how he can’t stand when someone only pretends to listen to a conversation.

Klaus loves Dave and it’s everything, he hasn’t been living, not truly, till he meets Dave, who shows him the ropes, who teaches him how to shoot a gun, pulls him back when he wants to snark at their commander, holds him at night when the battlefield and the dead roar in his ears.

In turn, Klaus holds Dave’s hands when he can’t swallow past his words, tells him about his family, about how fucked up they are until Dave is laughing at the story of the time Allison let Klaus borrow her skirt and it didn’t end well for the poor skirt.

He tells Dave about the dead in their third month, he wakes with cold fingers grasping at his neck, and it’s the natives, horribly burned by whatever shit they pour over the forests, and he can feel it burning on his neck down to his chest. He darts out of the tent and throw up under the cold moonlight in the middle of who-knows Vietnam and laughs until he cries and wishes he has the drugs to escape just as much as he hates them.

Dave’s arms wrap around him and they’re warm, they’re real in a way nothing has been for a while, in a way he hasn’t been touched, been held since he doesn’t even know. He sobs and breaks and babbles and it doesn’t make sense, the ghosts, the mausoleum, the drugs, and the death, so much death. He thinks Dave will leave, will look at him with disgust, will push Klaus away and that will be it, the best months of his life gone like gasoline in the hands of an arsonist (him).

But he doesn’t.

He stares at Klaus, but it isn’t silent, and then he huffs laughter and leans forward, places his hands, so warm, on Klaus’ cheeks and kisses him. Their lips are both chapped, brittle, but Klaus doesn’t care. He feels alive, more than he’s ever felt, he feels love and it’s like fireworks, it's like a freaking nuclear bomb in his chest and he’s crying and laughing against Dave’s lips and running his hands through his hair.

“Klaus.”

He says his name, soft, almost breathy and Klaus pulls back and opens his eyes. They’re floating, a few feet above the squishy earth, the air is swirling around them and the stars above are bright, so bright as if all the clouds in the skies have fled, and fireflies fill the air like tiny beacons as if responding to Klaus. They sink slowly to the ground and Dave wraps one arm around Klaus’ hips and pulls him close and they kiss. It’s so fucking perfect it feels too real.

They have to hide their relationship, but it’s the happiest months of Klaus’ life, he doesn’t care that there are no drugs, none of his siblings, the future doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care if they think he went off and died in a ditch somewhere because Dave is Everything.

Being in the army is different, it’s the same discipline as the Umbrella Academy, but they actually form friendships and there’s no favourites or superpowers in the way. There’re stories about home and grumbling about shit food, and Klaus loves it. Loves it deep into his bones in a way he can’t verbalize, can’t materialise.

The dead are still around, but on a battlefield, in a war, they’re all half dead and it isn’t quite so hard when the mortar shells exploding in his ears drowns out the wallowing cries of his name and the reading of poems long forgotten that will never see the light.

Then it ends.

They’re on the front and Klaus knows how fragile life is in war, has watched Tim die from fever, seen John collapse one day and not get back up. But then it’s Dave and he knows this quiet, knows what it means in a way that sinks down, down, down.

There’s a hole in his chest and Klaus already knows as he’s screaming for a medic that Dave won’t make it, can feel it in his fingers, a sharp tingle that thrums like waves of electricity, like a shock. And he can’t. He can’t lose Dave, but he can’t stop death, can’t save him. Because he’s weak.

Dave dies.

The battlefield erupts with mortars, trees fall, the ground shakes, the world burns and Klaus tucks his dog tags over his head and presses a last kiss to Dave’s cold lips (too cold, he should never be cold) and walks away. He holds the briefcase in his hands, and he is numb again, except this numb is only a mask, isn’t real, isn’t real enough and he desperately wants it to be real as he opens the briefcase.

He lands on the bus, the case in his hands and Dave is gone. It is all gone. There is only a pair of dog tags and a tattoo on his shoulder to remember it. That and the ache in his chest. Klaus destroys the briefcase and cries, wishes he could feel the warmth of Dave’s arms around him, but there is nothing and he is dead.

X

To finally die is strange, he’s been holding death’s hand since he was five years old and able to understand what he’s seeing, has always been chasing death with reckless abandon. To find it on the club floor, trying to protecting his brother, while sober is not how he expected to die.

God, or whatever she is, is a preteen girl and she doesn’t like him. Klaus is okay with that, he doesn’t like himself either, and he doubts Hell would be all that welcoming of him in any situation.

But the world around him is quiet, the space around him is quiet in a way Klaus’ life has never been because the ghosts have always been there, and his thoughts have always torn through his mind demanding attention in the same way he tries to in real life.

Seeing dad sucks, knowing the old man killed himself sucks more, but Klaus isn’t surprised, not by the disappointed sigh, not by the insistence that he has potential that he could unlock. Because the world is ending in three days and Klaus is sick of dad’s bullshit.

He killed himself.

He walks through the streets and its cold, so cold and he can feel the urge to take something, anything, like hot coals beneath his feet and Ben is staring at him lost, confused, he doesn’t know. None of them do. None of them care (except Ben, but he has to care) they didn’t notice when he went missing, they probably didn’t even notice that he’s gone.

Diego notices, he tries but he’s got his own concern with his girlfriend in the hospital and the situation with mom. And Klaus almost can’t blame him.

Klaus thought he was past being hurt by his family because they’re all fucked up and it’s to be expected and the only bastard to blame is dad (they have the biggest daddy issues). But the water of the tub is choking him and all he can hear are the shells exploding and all he can feel is Dave’s blood on his hands and maybe he did die, and this is all that’s left. Maybe he’s the ghost.

It’s okay (it’s not).

He’s so tempted, he wants to see Dave, wants to see him with everything he fucking has, every single atom in his body. But it hurts, it’s an aching consuming, swallowing hole in his chest that is chewing up everything and he feels as if there’s nothing left inside his chest but blood.

Ben stands there in stony silence, his arms crossed over his chest and he says, “Dave wouldn’t want you to.”

No, he would fucking not. But Dave is dead, he isn’t there to tell Klaus not to, isn’t there to smile at him with that quirk of his lips that highlights the dimple in his cheek and the way his eyes glow like a pool of water under the moonlight. He isn’t there because he’s dead.

Ben punches him. He physically touches him. He punches him. Touches him. Ben.

The words jerk themselves through his mind as he cradles his cheek and suddenly the pills aren’t worth it, the high isn’t worth it even his hands are shaking, he feels so cold, and his lungs don’t quite fit his chest. Klaus closes his eyes and cradles his dog tags in his hands.

X

When he sees her there, in that thing, banging against the walls, sobbing, crying, that thing without sound, without anything. Klaus stills, utterly still, like stone, and he is angry, it runs through his veins like a charging bull, but he tilts his head and breathes, the anger rattles inside him, it is the shells impacting the ground, it is the hail of bullet fire across the battlefield.

Klaus has never been close to Vanya, they were both outcasts in their own rights, both different but differently. But Klaus has never forgotten the mausoleum and it doesn’t matter if she is the one who could cause the apocalypse or that she can’t control her power or that she has abandoned them or wrote a book about all their secrets. He will not sit by and watch his sister experience what he has, will not stand and watch.

“No.”

They turn to him, surprise colouring their features and Klaus can feel Ben behind him as he takes a step forward, the ground cracks beneath his feet and Luther flinches but steps forward in front of him, angry, and imposing and confused. Klaus looks at his siblings, he shouldn’t and he’s sorry in advance, but he will not let Vanya experience what he has just because Luther thinks it best.

Luther takes a step forward and refuses to let Klaus pass.

He let’s go.

The floor cracks and his siblings are thrown into the wall as the box in front of him cracks and he places his hand on the wheel and it turns, he can feel the dead and they are humming in his head and for a moment everything is right, and everything is okay as the door falls off its hinges and Vanya stares at him with shocked eyes.

Klaus feels the blood and exhaustion a moment later, feels the grief he’s been trying to subdue trying to fake, it floods his body like a hit of something that’s contaminated. He has the energy to flash a weak smile at Vanya, an apology something like empathy and then the darkness enfolds him in its sweet embrace.

X

He wakes with his head in Ben’s lap, his solid lap, his fingers are trailing through Klaus’ hair in a slow soothing motion that brings tears to his eyes unconsciously, he reaches up and traces a gentle finger over Ben’s hand, scared he might disappear, might leave him alone again.

Then he remembers.

Klaus sits up with a rough inhale, his head is pounding, his chest is tight, his skin is cold and clammy, and maybe it’s just him but the world around him is titled on its axis and still sort of spinning. He’s on the couch in the living room and when he looks up the room is empty, everything is empty, echoing inside his head and he tucks his arms close to his chest and wraps his fingers around the cold metal of Dave’s dog tags and looks to Ben.

“Vanya is upstairs with Allison, Luther won’t let them leave, Diego put you here, but he’s trying to keep the tension from escalating.”

Ben replies unprompted and when he reaches forward his hand passes through Klaus’ hair. His expression twitches and it’s the sad one that Klaus desperately hates. As if prompted by the words, the walls of the house shake and an expensive vase slides of the table and crashes to the ground.

Klaus rises to his feet and immediately regrets it, the blood swirls to his head like a whirlpool in reverse and everything is shaky, and his heart kind of stops in his chest for a moment. He inhales and keeps moving, through the hallways, up the stairs, past a ghost with one arm and another without teeth, towards their rooms, the tension there is tangible, heavy and real in a way that sinks into his skin as he stumbles and leans against the doorway.

They all stare at him, Five is there as well, the whole family out together again how nostalgic.

“Are you okay Klaus?”

Vanya asks staring at him from beside Allison her fingers hovering over her pulse point, and there are dried tear tracks on her cheeks as she cradles a magazine in the other hand. Allison is curled against Vanya her note pad beside her, in curled fingers with blocky print. Luther stands in front of Klaus, tilted to the side so that he can stare at Klaus with wide eyes something apologetic there but resolved. That’s how it always is with Luther. Diego is leaning against the window holding one of his knives staring at Klaus with wide eyes, Five is beside him looking bored but hiding his caution and worry under a thinly veiled layer of boredom.

Klaus nods and doesn’t sway on his feet.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

Luther says, and they all nod staring at him as if expecting an answer as if he owes them an answer. Klaus shrugs and regrets the motion and replies, “Neither did we know anything about Vanya. This family keeps secrets, dad killed himself to unite us, and we still maybe have an Apocalypse, capital A to avoid.”

They all untense at his words as if the appearance of his normal personality sets them at ease. Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes and Klaus laughs at his expression and ignores the middle finger because this is important. He ignores the confused looks they flash him at his action because they haven’t cared before and now is not the time.

“So, what’s the plan?”

He directs this question at Five who is arguably the better leader and older than the rest of them, even if it will inflate his ego. If he focuses on the situation he doesn’t have to think about Dave, about the place burned into his chest where Dave’s dog tags rest.

They go to Vanya’s concert.

She’s good, really good and it reminds Klaus of the days when they were children and it sounded more like the screeching of a cat. But she’s good. Amazing even. The guys in masks apparently don’t think so.

They’re overwhelmed, surrounded, and Klaus doesn’t know how they’re going to get out of this alive, he wishes Ben were there, really there. He is. Manifesting or whatever it is he is doing pulls through him, it explodes through his gut, crackles around his fingers and he can see Ben but so can the rest of his family and the sound of the violin is dull in the background as blood roars in his ears and Klaus can just breathe, can feel, and it’s cold but it’s right and he’s floating a few feet off the ground and he can hear Dave’s voice in his mind as the guys in masks are dispatched and all that’s left is the violin.

They go home.

X

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, I wrote this all in one night which was probably a bad idea but here we are. I hope you all enjoyed this idea, comments are always super appreciated!


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